A Scar In The Sky
by sugardoddle
Summary: A troubled teen finds her way through emotions, reality, and friendships. SHORT STORY! -excuse my lack of indents, grammar/spelling correction, and terrible line spacing-
1. Chapter 1

A Scar In The Sky~

The story of a troubled girl.

[Song to go with story: Song to the siren ~ by This Mortal Coil]

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**CHAPTER **

**1**

I was sitting down in the corner of the school's bathroom. Blackened tears stained my cheeks, as my face appeared more red than usual. What they had done to me was horrible.

My throat tightened up, as a shiver crawled down my back.

I stiffened, hearing someone walk past the bathroom door. Closing my eyes, I held my breath, hoping they wouldn't look inside.

As the footsteps faded away, I gently started to breathe again.

I wiped away the water from my eyes, and stared down at my hands. I had chopped away the fingers of the leather gloves I was wearing, so my black nail polish was revealed.

The varnish was slightly chipped away; time for another coat of that strong smelling liquid.

Pulling my knees up to my chest, I rested my chin on top of them. I gazed up at the smeared mirror above the sink. I dared myself to look into it.

I thought about this for a minute, and then agreed.

I stood on my feet quietly, and waited in front of the sink. Biting my lip, I glanced up.

How ugly. Disgusting, revolting, horrifying. I quickly looked away, resisting the urge to cry again. My face seemed to be the definition of all insulting words.

I combed my ebony hair back with my fingers, and tied it into a messy bun.

I leaned over the sink, and turned on the water. It was freezing cold, but I shrugged it off.

Starting to rub away the layers and layers of makeup, I created a black pool of filth.

As soon as the eyeliner and powder was off my face, I reluctantly looked back into the mirror.

The terrifying mess was partially gone. I blinked a few times, and rubbed more water over my delicate skin.

I went home that day, my face hidden in the hood of the gray sweater I wore.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

As slumped over the desk in my bedroom, I looked down at my forearms.

There they were, those red lines of relief.

Pursing my lips, I tried my best not to think about the alleviation I received.

I closed my eyes, and sighed. I couldn't do it anymore. I promised the counselor I wouldn't.

But what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

I bit my lip, and reluctantly picked up the razor that was kept away in a locked box.

Sitting by the window, I frowned.

What was I doing?

I couldn't start again.

But it'll only happen once more, nothing serious.

I swallowed the fear, and placed the blade down by my wrist. Closing my eyes, I started digging the sharp edge into my skin. It tingled for a moment, and then it actually felt good.

I opened my eyes, to see the red blood drip quietly down my arm.

Pulling a tissue out of its box, I blotted the red liquid from my skin.

I sighed, and threw the tissue into the trashcan.

I felt better in a way, but a little bit inside me knew it was wrong.

Going back to my mirror, I heavily applied eyeliner. I blinked, and then took a tube of deep red lipstick.

Smearing it across my lips, I made sure to fill the color in evenly.

After straightening my hair, and adding a light pink hair clip to blonde streaks, I was on my way to another 7 hours of torture.

Crossing the busy street, my ice blue eyes flickered down to the yellow striped path.

A few kids ran past, almost shoving me into a car.

I glared after them, staying silent. Shaking my head slightly, I focused my eyes on the sidewalk I was now walking on.

I arrived at high school, the worst place on earth.

As I slugged my way down the hallway, an older teenager slammed me into the lockers on the left wall.

"EMO. Die and go to Hell," He barked, before grimacing, and walking briskly away.

My breath stuck in my throat, as I reluctantly opened my eyes.

One of the handles dug into my side. I lifted up my black shirt slightly, and there a huge bruise started to form. I growled, and walked down to my rusty locker, shoving my books inside.

Slipping into a seat farthest away from the blackboard, I stuck my tongue in cheek, and pulled out a pocketknife I had stuffed in my back pocket earlier. English class. My least favorite.

I flickered my eyes down, and began etching words into the wooden desk.

-Emo 4evr-

Brushing off the shavings, I bit my lip. The words were scraggly, but readable.

Now the next hater who will sit here will get a piece of my emotional mind.

I glanced around the room, a smug look on my face.

It was most possible that I would be the only one to sit at this desk, because no one wants to sit after an emo girl. Well at least they will be words of encouragement.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

I sat at lunch all by myself, the usual.

Eating in peace, I thought about the cut I had made earlier today. I looked down at my wrist, studying the puffy red line. I had to fight the urge of wanting that sensation again.

Well, at least I resisted until the end of the next class.

I found myself outside the building, digging through my pocket for the small knife I carried. With my leg bent and resting against the brick wall, I turned my wrist so my palm was facing up.

I glared down at the blade, watching every move I made. I sliced a long line from the center of my palm, to the middle of my forearm. It felt painful, but it covered all of the stressing things happening in my life for a short period of time. As soon as the relief faded away, I slashed at my arm again. And again, and then a few more times.

Blood was staining the sleeve of my shirt, but I didn't care.

I became frustrated as the emotional pain kept coming back.

My arm looked like someone had intended to chop it clean, but missed a few hundred times.

I bit my lip in horror. What did I just do? My eyes widened as the blood gathered and pooled into my hand.

A tear ran down my cheek, as I smacked my bloody hand to the wall in frustration. A few spot splattered red, but a definite handprint was left. A smug look was left on my face, looking at the handprint.

I smacked my hand again.

Another handprint –slightly more faded than the first- was marked on the brick.

I looked down at my arm, and started rubbing my other hand in the blood.

I made several handprints, but decided that once the red blood from my arm ran dry, I wasn't going to cut anymore.

I stood back slightly, and gazed at the line of handprints. Slipping the knife back into my pocket, I started walking away from school. I headed down the street, a slight smile on my face.

I ended up in the alley alongside the strip mall. Pulling out my lighter and pack of cigarettes, I glanced around. Nobody except me.

Sending the tip of a cigarette aflame, I breathing in the smoke, holding it in for a few seconds. I let it out slowly, watching the gray wisps form beautiful swirls and then fade away into the oxygen.


End file.
